And the Cradle Fell
by Marguerite1
Summary: Companion piece to "When the Bough Broke" - a conversation after Scully's visit to the confessional in "All Souls."


**And the Cradle Fell**

Category: Post-ep for "All Souls."   
Summary: Mulder: "My sixth sense, my sense of Partner, is on full alert."   
This story is a sequel of sorts to "When the Bough Broke." 

*** 

This must be some kind of record. 

I've been in more churches in the last four months than in the last four years, and it's not getting any easier. Still, I have to be here today, even more than I had to go to the chapel in San Diego. That day, I thought I was helping her say goodbye to her little girl. But, as fate would have it, that was only the beginning. 

Ever since the funeral she has locked herself away from me in a place so dark and forbidding that my heart breaks to see her there. Scully tried to go through the grieving stages all in one day, working so hard to keep her dignity intact, working even harder to do it alone. 

I've let her do it her way. I don't like the man I've become, but it had to be done in order to give her the emotional privacy she craved. So I slipped into the new shell which had recently come my way, that of the skeptic, and tried to make myself at home there. 

It's not working. 

If Scully says that Emily came to her in a vision, then I have no doubt that it was Emily she saw. When she told me about that, my heart stopped cold. I wanted, needed, to clasp her to me and tell her that everything was going to be all right, that Emily was trying to say goodbye, that it was time to heal. 

Scully would've shot me. 

Once again, I had to reach for another answer. I appealed to her as a scientist and an officer of the law. It worked before, when she was first diagnosed with cancer, and it seemed to work again last night. Even though we were in a room full of people, she let me touch her. I needed it as much as she did. And, oh, how it tore at me to walk away. 

All I know now is that the fourth girl died in the same mysterious way as the others, and that Scully was there. When I went to the office I had a voice message saying that she had to do some things today, that she would see me tomorrow. 

That she was fine. 

Whenever she says that, I don't know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. All I know is that it isn't true. 

Scully, before her cancer, might have taken a drive or a walk. She might have gone to talk things over with her mother. But Mrs. Scully says that her daughter is nearly a stranger to her now. Everyone has to face her walls. 

On a hunch, I drove to her church in Alexandria. Her car was one of two parked in front of the sanctuary. 

Now I am inside, letting warm sunshine wash over me in the brilliant colors of the stained glass. Although I can't see her, I know she's in here. My sixth sense, my sense of Partner, is on full alert. I notice the light above the confessional door and the blood rushes away from my head. 

What could she need to tell a stranger that she could not tell me? 

It hits me in the face like a strong, foul wind. 

I've become the stranger. 

Just when I thought the pain could not get any worse, it reminds me that it can and will. In trying to give her privacy, I've let her think that I've abandoned her. It suits my selfish needs perfectly. 

She's only seen me scoff at her how many times since January? Why in the world would she reach for me now? 

She has no way of knowing what went through my mind when I learned that she had been at the mass burning in Pennsylvania. She has no idea of the absolute horror that went through me when I saw someone zipping up a body bag around the corpse of a woman with red hair. She has no memory of my sitting at her bedside, stroking her face and hands until she stirred to the edge of wakefulness. 

She doesn't know any of this. 

The thoughts are still leaping through my mind, demanding attention, when the confessional door opens and Scully comes out. She does not see me. She goes to a pew, genuflects, and kneels. 

Penance, Scully? For what? And why? 

It does not take long for her to complete her prayers. In her brown dress she looks like a portrait of autumn leaves, dying in the chill wind that whips them from their home. I shiver, but I remain silent. 

At last she heads down the center aisle. Her eyes are tear-dimmed, but she holds her head high and her step is sure. 

She sees me, and her intake of breath is audible even in the back of the vestibule. 

I give her a small, guilty smile, standing still. She knows she can come to me if she wants, or she can go through the other door and avoid me. 

She comes to me, questioning me in silence. 

I shrug. "Where else would you be?" 

She nods. 

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm..." She cuts herself off with a wry smile. "I'm going to be," she amends. 

We just stand there, looking at each other. It's awkward. It's become increasingly stilted these last few months. As I look at this woman, the only true friend I have, I am afraid to speak. I am ashamed at my part in bringing it to this point. 

She sees it in my eyes. Her cool fingers find their way into my hand. 

"Emily was there in the church, Mulder. She held my hand, just like this, and then she asked me to let her go." 

"Oh, Scully..." 

" 'Mommy, let me go.' That's what she said to me." Her eyes fill again. "And I did. I let her go." 

My chest hurts. My eyes are stinging. 

"I let her go into the light, into Heaven. But it was...so hard..." 

I have no choice but to wrap her up in my arms and hold her. "I know, Scully. I know." 

She does not weep, even now, but her arms thread around my waist. "It was the right thing to do, Mulder. I've tried to deny it to myself and to her, but it was the right thing." 

There is no answer for me to give, so I squeeze her gently. Such a strong soul in such a slight body. 

"There's a way for me to reconcile the physical loss with the sure knowledge that she is at rest. I haven't found it yet, but I know I will." She pulls back so that she can look me in the eyes. Her face is pale but calm. "And I can live with it." 

I feel the slight tug of her fingers as they request release. We are inches apart, the oceans between us spanned at last. We are both smiling. She puts her hand on my arm and keeps it there for a moment. "Thank you for finding me." 

"You were never lost, Scully. I just wasn't looking hard enough." 

Quickly, gracefully, she stands on tiptoe and puts her arms around my neck. I want to hold her like this forever and ever, but the embrace is tantalizingly brief. She is Scully again in mere seconds, standing in front of me and pulling her sweater tightly around herself. This is softer armor; she will let me in. 

To my unspoken question, she says with her voice: "I'm going for a walk, then over to Mom's for a while. " Her eyes say "alone." 

I nod, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat as she turns to leave, but I know she sees my anguish. 

And then there is a miracle. 

Scully looks back over her shoulder at me. "I don't have any plans for dinner," she adds. 

I hold up seven fingers. 

She smiles, her face touched with gold light as she walks into the sunshine. 

*****   
END 

Feedback will be lovingly saved and answered at marguerite@swbell.net.   
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